if you dare, come a little closer
by Melika Elena
Summary: Gale & Madge find each other in the new world. "You're supposed to help me remember," Madge said, with a sardonic twist of her lips. "Remind me who I used to be." Gale laughed and it was bitter. "And how am I supposed to do that? I don't even know who I am anymore," he told her. "It's okay," Madge whispered, turning her palm over so it clasped his. "I remember." Post-Mockingjay


**if you dare, come a little closer**

_Gadge February Prompt: Crime _

Gale put his head in his hands as he took in Paylor's words, damned how unprofessional it looked. "Wait a minute," he said wearily. "So there was a secret group within the Rebellion itself?"

Paylor sighed. She looked tired, too. "Apparently," she said. "So secret even Heavensbee was kept in the dark."

Coin wanted an elite group of spies to infiltrate and assassinate high-ranking figures in the Capitol, to take down the Capitol in case the Mockingjay and the Star Squad failed. Her mentality was with her secret group could re-ignite the Rebellion if need be, or at least help it along. One spy from each district, excluding 13 and including the Capitol, to gather intel—and, once the war began, to murder the Capitol's highest. Coin didn't believe in fair trials, only spectacles and cold-blooded murders.

She also wanted a group that answered only to her, in which she didn't have to ask anybody's opinion on how to run it.

"How did she pick these spies?" Asked Della Rowberry, the newest mayor for District 9. She was about Paylor's age, perhaps older, with streaks of grey in her red curly hair.

Paylor began to massage her temples. "By age and status," she said. "The younger the better—though not too young. Teenagers. Easier to mold and train, at the height of their physical peak. If they were close to the Capitol, they were used. Some… more willingly than others."

"What do you mean?" Frowned Joules Adler, the young head of the hospital in District 5.

"We learned that Coin had many prisoners of war," Paylor said, "and she kept them throughout the districts. Her reach was wider than we thought. She either named them as 'Capitol sympathizers' or simply swept them up once the chaos of war broke out. She had planned on using them even after the War as well, to get rid of any who didn't agree with her or whom she deemed a 'threat' to the New Republic." Paylor stood and walked to the window. "Today's one of the many days that I thank Katniss Everdeen for ridding us of that monster," she said.

Gale's heart hurt at her words.

"So why are we here?" Asked Major Jem Lincoln, the head of the military of District 11. "Why only the four of us?"

Gale pursed his lips. He noticed that, too, and didn't like how representatives from the other districts weren't there.

"Rest assured," Paylor said tiredly, "the other districts have already been told of this. The reason I haven't met with them is because the spies from their districts are irrelevant."

"Irrelevant?" Della asked sharply.

"Dead," answered Joules before Paylor could. "So that means… ours are alive?"

"Yes," said Paylor. "They are. And that's why you're here."

Jem frowned, not understanding. "Are you turning them over to our custody? Are we meant to dictate the punishment for their crimes?"

Paylor sighed. "No," she said. "Granted, the people we have in our custody are undoubtedly dangerous. They have assassinated a multitude of high-ranking Capitol officials who—monsters or not—deserved fair trials. But they were essentially brainwashed and abused by Coin, who did unspeakable things for them to cooperate. They all turned themselves in, mostly because they were too lost to do anything else. They've had their lives stolen, too. I want you to help rehabilitate them."

Gale, Della, and Jem stiffened. It made sense for Joules to be involved, as the head of a hospital, but three war veterans? "Why us?" Gale said, thinking he should be the last person involved.

"Remember Delly Cartwright?" Paylor asked him quietly. "And her role in the rehabilitation of Peeta Mellark?"

Delly's role wasn't huge, Gale thought, but he understood her point. It wasn't so much that they were qualified professionals, but whoever these spies were, they had a connection to the four people present.

"We have psychiatric professionals working with them, but you four will be supplementary help."

Four. Only four. "If these spies were so elite," Gale asked suddenly, "how come the majority of them are dead?"

"Many of them committed suicide," Paylor said quietly. "A couple did get killed in the War, especially when undercover. That was a risk."

They were quiet for a moment. "They're in rooms right now," Paylor said. "I wouldn't quite call it prison, but they are being heavily monitored."

"How do we know they're loyal to the New Republic?" Gale demanded. "That this isn't just a ploy."

"They're not answering to anyone else," Paylor said. "According to them—and the plans they showed me—they were planning on assassinating Coin themselves. A final hurrah and a bid to freedom. But now that she's dead, there's no purpose. They're too broken to function."

"What can we do?" Joules said, a fierce look in her amber, almond-shaped eyes. "These people need help immediately."

Paylor stood. "Come with me."

000

Joules, Della, and Jem were reunited with their spies—and yes, reunited was the right word because Gale's suspicions were correct: each of them did know their spies. The spy from 5 was Joules's first love, the eldest son of the Head Peacekeeper of 5 who she thought had long been killed. The spy from 9 was Della's niece, whose father was a high-ranking official at the district's Justice Building—she was presumed dead after an initial bloody battle. The spy from 11 was Jem's younger, rebellious brother, who had disappeared one night and everyone assumed had died at the hands of the Capitol. Jem's family was the primary servants of the mayor's family.

Paylor left them alone—and by "alone" she meant heavily supervised with armed guards—and walked Gale towards the rooms for 12's spy.

Gale hesitated at the door. "Should I knock?" He asked.

Paylor shrugged. "Up to you."

He chose to, and the door opened. Wide blue eyes, as sad and lost as he remembered them, locked with his. Her blonde waves were pulled back from her face, and her body, clad in a black tank top and black pants, was more lean than slim, with firm, toned muscle. She was tense—so was he.

"Madge," he breathed, stunned.

She licked her lips, eyed him warily. "Gale," she said, his name slipping awkwardly on her tongue. Foreign.

Paylor said quietly, "I'll leave you two alone now." They listened to her low heels clack on the floor and fade.

"You're the spy," he croaked.

"I _was_," she corrected him quietly. She wouldn't meet his eyes. "Come in?"

"Sure," Gale said, eyeing the multiple guards posted around her rooms. One of them even followed them in.

Gale bristled. He could take care of himself, especially against a tiny thing like Undersee… but this girl wasn't Madge Undersee, Mayor's daughter anymore, he had to remind himself. He wondered how many people she had killed. Couldn't be more than him, he thought grimly.

They sat across from each other on some colorless couches. The rooms provided for them functioned like a studio apartment, and Gale could see the other bland things in the room. He looked at Madge. She looked washed out, like a faded version of herself, like they all did after the War.

He didn't even want to think about what he looked like.

"Never thought I'd see you again," he told her honestly.

"Same," Madge told him bluntly. "Thought Coin would kill me before then."

Gale frowned, leaned forward. He wanted to kill Coin all over again. That woman brought him nothing but misery, really. She forced him to pay too high a cost. "Why would she kill you?"

Madge shrugged. "When she didn't need me anymore," she said.

Gale was quiet with horror and rage for a moment before he looked up and found Madge looking at him. "You still have that anger in you," she murmured, and to his shock, reached up and smoothed the crease in between his brows. "Haven't changed much, have you?"

Gale found a corner of his mouth quirking up, something that hadn't happened in a long time. "You have, clearly," he retorted. "Forget what personal boundaries were, Princess?"

Madge smiled a little. "I certainly haven't been called 'Princess' in a long time," she said. "Is it weird that I missed it?"

"Is it weird that I missed you?" He asked boldly, thought he felt a little shy. It's not just a corny line—it's true. When they were kids in 12, he wouldn't say that they were friends, exactly, but there was something about the other that they couldn't get away from.

They looked out for each other, oddly, without meaning to. He made sure she got home safely one night when some punks were bothering her; she found him in the Meadow one night, upset after the Games, and sat next to him all night, not saying a word. He found himself holding her hand during the violence of the Victory Games and she… she brought him the Morphling.

No, they weren't friends, but they weren't not, either, Gale thought.

"Not weird at all," Madge replied, her smile growing.

000

He didn't want to ask her what happened to her—well, he did want to ask, but didn't know how. She told him, anyway, without prompting. "I know you're wondering," she told him, "and if Paylor wants this half-assed rehabilitation scheme to work, you need to know what happened."

They took her the night of the bombing; Coin had known for a while that she wanted Madge as her spy—Gale was actually her first choice, due to his strength and speed, but he was too obvious. People would notice his suspicious absence. Madge was perfect because she was so invisible, Madge told Gale flatly, matter-of-factly. She had more access to the Capitol than Gale did as well, and it would make more sense that she would pretend to be pro-Capitol. She was also smart, quiet, and observant—her strengths. The physical stuff, her weakness, she would learn later.

The night of the bombing her father was trying to disable the electricity of the fence—he would eventually succeed, but it would cost him his life. Coin's forces stormed Madge's house, tranquilized her mother—except instead of using Morphling, they euthanized her. Madge didn't learn this until later. They planted a body to pass as Madge, if need be—a body of another Town girl, Madge suspected, but she only saw a glimpse of it.

And they took her to depths of District 13, deeper than Katniss or Gale ever saw. She was corralled with the other children—Reaping age children, she realized immediately—and Coin met with them. She told them of how they would honor the Districts by serving her; they would get the revenge they so desired. Madge and the other children understood that they weren't getting a choice here, that this woman saved them and let their families die and suffer for a reason. She was going to get what she wanted, and resisting her meant death.

She brought in experts, people from the Capitol, ex-trainers from the Hunger Games. Madge didn't question how she brought them there, only that this woman's empire extended far beyond the charred borders of District 13.

They trained for twelve hours a day, relentlessly, Coin working them to the limits. When they weren't training their bodies, they were training in espionage, strategy, in the names and faces of the people they would be assassinating.

The intent was for them to blend in, but if someone grew suspicious of them, their backgrounds as citizens who were relatively close to the Capitol would help them. They were given elaborate backstories—Madge's was that she hated living in District 12, that she ran away from home, that she snuck on a train to the Capitol and she never looked back.

Madge knew that Coin was truly evil when she felt her personality begin to change. At the mention of Capitol officials, the children became nearly rabid, simmering rage threatening to take them over. She couldn't control her emotions, only felt clear-headed and in control when she was fighting or hurting someone.

It wasn't until, weeks later, that she felt the back of her tender neck. They were injecting them with something to change them while they slept. She was Coin's version of a Mutt. And there was nothing she could do about it. The injections would continue whether she knew about them or not.

So she fought back, in little ways. When they got their first assignments to kill, shortly before Peeta and Annie were rescued, Madge tried to keep her mind. She didn't want to kill for Coin, mindlessly- she wanted to kill for people who mattered.

She got her hands on lists—of people who had lived in 12, of the people who had survived, cross-referencing until she made her own list: the list of people who had died in 12 from the bombings.

For every kill she had, Madge crossed a name off her list. She killed for her father, her mother. She killed for her housekeeper Rose and for the girl whose body replaced hers. She killed for the Mellark's; she killed for the Seam families who died in their shacks, starving; she killed for each child decimated in the Community home.

Her hands were stained with blood, and her sanity was barely in tact. She didn't take joy in killing those people, though they deserved it, those former game makers, Snow's most ardent peacekeepers and generals, even members of his family met unfortunate ends.

Instead, she loathed Coin even more for who she had turned into, because although killing didn't make her feel happy, it was the only time she felt sane. She could focus while on a mission, but in the downtime she felt like how her mother must have felt—in a daze, unhinged. Not really present.

When Coin died, even though the injections and the orders stopped, the killing didn't. They were addicts, now. A couple of them were killed in attacks during the War while on assignment. They were the lucky ones.

It was during that time after Coin's death that the remaining spies understood what would have happened if they had tried to resist an assignment. The injections not only altered their personalities, but made it so that resisting led to horrific nightmares and hallucinations. Those nightmares and hallucinations, kept at bay through killing, now emerged relentlessly, a final parting gift from Coin.

It's what led half of the remaining spies to kill themselves. Kill or be killed, and ultimately those spies felt it was worse to live through killing.

It was Watts, from 5, who had the idea to go to Paylor. They figured they had nothing left to lose. Literally.

Paylor only believed them because she had recently unearthed all of Coin's secret files, in which they were included. She had never dreamed of finding them at all, and was gracious in offering her help. They all knew she was secretly relieved that they were more inclined to be saved than to keep killing.

"And here I am," Madge finished, her hands clasped together so tightly Gale swore he could see the white of her bones nearly bursting through the knuckle. "It's been a few months, trying to detox… in more ways than one."

Gale, before he could stop himself, laid a hand over hers. This was more human contact than he had had in nearly a year, Gale thought. And whose fault was that? He asked himself, thinking of his family, still in District 13. They weren't sure whether they wanted to go back to 12 or follow Gale to 2. Gale realized his mother took comfort in the structure in 13, though he loathed it. But if he had taken the steps to finding them a house in 2, with him, then he knew his mother and siblings would come. If only he let them know he wanted them to.

"What now?" Gale asked quietly. "When will that drug wear off?"

"They're trying to find an antidote," Madge said, "or at least something to lessen the effects, if not reverse them slowly. Since we'd been drugged for every day for a year… well, it'll be in our system for a long time. It'll be a long process, so that's why we have the psychologists… and you all."

"What am _I_ supposed to do?" Gale whispered. He was the last person qualified for this. He was just as broken as she was.

"You're supposed to help me remember," Madge said, with a sardonic twist of her lips. "Remind me who I used to be."

Gale laughed and it was bitter. "And how am I supposed to do that? I don't even know who _I _am anymore," he told her.

She took him in—his dark hair, shorter. He would grey at the temples early, she decided, although it would look good on him, as everything did, even that ridiculously drab, though well-fitted military uniform. She hated it on him. She missed his hunter green jacket and his worn brown boots. She didn't think it was possible for him to get more serious than he was as a surly teenager, but he is now. But she remembers the few times she saw him laughing with his siblings or smiling at Katniss—at the light in his grey eyes, like moon beams filtering through a cloudy night.

"It's okay," Madge whispered, turning her palm over so it clasped his. "I remember."

000

Some days were better than others. The spies were given a choice to stay with Paylor in the new Capitol or to travel with their companions to their respective districts. Except for Gale and Madge, the other spies would be going back to their home districts, which they readily agreed to do.

Gale asked Madge what she wanted to do. "I don't really have many options, do I?" Madge mused. "I can stay here, alone—go back to District 12 and be alone—or go with you and well, have _somebody _at least."

Gale wasn't so sure about her tone at the word "somebody" but nevertheless, he felt a twinge of pleasure. It had been a long time since someone had depended on him, really. His family still did, to be sure, but not in the desperate sort of way they once did. His mother did good work in 13's hospitals there, and though he sent part of his paycheck home, he knew they didn't need it, not really. He just wanted to feel needed.

Paylor didn't want any of the spies living with their companions until their psychologists cleared it, but Gale went against Paylor's wishes and secured Madge an apartment in the same building as his, though several floors away.

Instead of staying at work late, as he usually did, Gale found himself hurrying home most nights to see her. Madge spent most of her time at the local hospital, where they were experimenting with antidotes, and with her psychologist, who was also willing to move to District 2 (at the expense of Paylor and the government, but that was hush hush.)

Some nights were good. They would scrape together dinner—Madge had never cooked for herself previously, and while Gale could skin and butcher an animal like an expert, he had always left the cooking to his mother. But they managed rather well, and Madge found some old recipe books at the salvaged libraries to expand their diet.

After dinner they would sit on Gale's couch and talk. They had struck up a deal: one memory a night. They tried to talk about memories that involved them both, but since there were limited memories of the two of them together, they also talked about anything involving their lives in District 12. The Hob. The Woods. The Meadow. People they knew, like Rooba the butcher, Sae, or Haymitch. Katniss and Peeta were a sore subject, but acceptable, as long as they weren't the focus of the memory.

Gale didn't realize, but Madge knew what happened with Gale and Prim; she just didn't pry. There were still spots within themselves that were too tender to touch just yet.

The memories weren't all bad, surprisingly. They talked about warm spring days, succulent strawberries, late summer festivals. Gale talked about the days he would have a good haul and his mom would make the best stew; Madge talked about good days when her mom would braid her hair and make her scones with strawberries.

Some days Madge felt like her old self. She found her fingers twitching, itching to play a song on the old Donner piano that she knew had gone up in flames in District 12. She craved strawberries and slowly discarded her black, tight, athletic clothing and, with some second-hand bin shopping and some of Hazelle Hawthorne's laundry secrets, brought pretty dresses back into her wardrobe.

And yet, Madge felt new, too. She wasn't the same girl from District 12 and never would be again. She was much more athletic than she had been, more adventurous, physically brave. She had taken up stretching, meditative breathing, and hiking to try and release her energy, her demons, and most weekends she and Gale would go into the woods and hike all day. She could run for miles and, when Gale surprised her with a filched punching bag from his work, practiced her boxing and martial arts skills.

Some days were bad. It was when she felt anxious or was idle did her hallucinations come, and this was incentive enough for her to go to the hospital every day—but what sort of life was this, dependent upon drugs and doctors to help her? She wasn't her mother; she never wanted to be.

When she felt the urge to kill was too strong, no matter how long she had seen her psychologist or no matter what drugs they tried on her, Madge locked herself in her room, would make sure Gale couldn't get in. In her room, Madge, in the middle of her bed, pulled her knees up to her chin and rocked herself back and forth, for the entire night. And no matter how much Gale would pound on her door, Madge wouldn't come out.

_Don't hurt Gale, _she would tell herself over and over. _He's all you have left. Don't hurt Gale. _

"Madge!" When he would come get her for dinner and she wouldn't answer, yet he could hear her whimpers, Gale knew she was having an episode, an urge. And he didn't care about what the neighbors thought when he pounded on the doors and called her name, over and over. "Madge, please. Let me in."

She never would, but that didn't deter him. He would sleep at her doorway, waiting.

He wasn't proud of this version of himself—he had never felt so needy, so desperate before, even with Katniss. But he couldn't let Madge go; he couldn't let her down. Just once, Gale wanted to save someone instead of ruin her.

000

It'd been six months and the tenth time that Madge locked herself in her room, Gale's screams echoing.

_Don't hurt Gale_, she thought, burrowing under her covers, biting down on a leather belt she purchased at a store a few months before. _Don't hurt Gale_.

She thought about all the ways that she killed in the past—poison in a drink; a tranquilizer gun; breaking the neck—she knew four different ways to do that effectively and quietly—a sniper shot from a rooftop; seduction, then strangulation; a staged suicide, clean red lines down the soft flesh of the inner arms.

Madge thought of blood; of Rue's blood on Katniss's hands, of Peeta's leg bleeding out; of Gale's raw back; of her blunt fingernails and her knuckles after training; of her first victim and her second and her third and the dozens that came after. Even with the poison there was always blood, leaking out of their ears or their mouths—it didn't matter where it came from, it just added another layer of blood onto her hands. She refused to add another layer.

Soon enough Gale's shouts stopped, as they always did. He must be asleep against her door, she thought. She wasn't sure if he knew that she was aware that he slept at her door, since she never opened it, but she knew he was there and she knew when he left, an hour before he was due to start work.

Usually the urges, once they started, didn't stop until dawn, but this night Madge felt herself start to calm. Perhaps Coin's injections were wearing off, which was good. It was nearly two years since Coin's death, and three since the injections started. At least the hallucinations and the urges would subside, even if the nightmares and the guilt never did.

She shivered, her sweat beginning to cool in the air. Madge looked at her clock on the wall. A little after 3 AM. "The witching hour," she murmured, thinking of the stories her mother used to tell.

Still shivering, Madge went, on shaky colt legs, to the bathroom, where she ran a warm shower. After showering and changing into new clothes, she felt much better. Braiding her damp hair, Madge bit her lip. Gale was still outside her door—she was surprised no one in the building complaining about his yells, but she figured when one was the cousin of the Mockingjay and one of the heroes of the Rebellion, he had a little leeway.

Should she go to him? She couldn't even imagine how he felt the next day, especially with his back—the nerves still a bit tender after all these years—against that door for hours on end.

Paylor didn't want them sleeping in the same vicinity, she knew, until Madge was cleared by her psychologist. When asleep, people were at their most vulnerable—and unpredictable, whether they were psychologically disturbed or normal. Who knows what she would do when asleep.

But Gale deserved a good night's rest, Madge decided. At the very least, she would send him back to his own apartment.

Wrapping a blanket tightly around herself, Madge went to the door, opening it very slightly. At the movement, Gale tried to sit up quickly, but winced, twisting his neck awkwardly to face her.

"Hey," he murmured, voice deep with sleep. "Are you..?"

"Fine now," Madge said, helping him stand. "_For_ now, anyway."

"Good," Gale swallowed, his eyes flickering all over her face and body, checking her, Madge realized. "I've been worried about you."

She gave him a tired smile and reached up, fixing a long lock of his tousled hair. He was growing it long, she noticed. "I've been worried about you, too," she said. "You know, when Paylor gave you this assignment, I don't think she meant for it to… to take over your life."

Gale looked at her sharply. "You're _not_ just an assignment," he told her. "This is more than that. You _know _that."

Madge didn't answer and they were silent for a moment. "You can go now," Madge said finally. "I'm sure your bed is much more comfortable than my door."

Gale's expression darkened a little bit. "I'm staying right here," he told her, and before she could react, he shoved open the door wide enough so he could get past her and into her apartment.

Madge scowled. She was clearly getting soft. At the peak of her spy days, Gale would've already been dead if he tried a move like that.

"We're not supposed to sleep together until Paylor and my psychologist ok's it!" Madge sputtered, growing alarmed at Gale's presence in her apartment. They usually holed up in his, although hers was very similar to his, in more ways than one. The layouts were similar, true, but they were also bare. Minimal. As though they were afraid to take root and settle in, make it a true home.

Gale turned to Madge and gave her a little smirk, and suddenly they were in the square at District 12 and he was the boy she wanted desperately and never thought she could have. "Paylor doesn't have any say in my personal life," he said.

Madge felt herself blushing, to her horror. "You're terrible," she muttered. "I don't know how your mother put up with you all these years."

Gale laughed, unoffended. "What I provided outweighed my annoyances," he smirked.

"Gale," Madge sighed. "Stop distracting me. Go home, okay? I'm fine now. I'll see you tomorrow."

Gale smiled at her softly. "It already is tomorrow," he said. "Madge. I'm staying."

Something in his words broke her a little. She understood what he was trying to say: he wasn't just staying the night, or the next few months. He was in. Whatever they were—friends, or the potential for something more—Gale was hers.

To her surprise, Madge felt tears stinging her eyes. "I—" she gasped.

He hugged her, enfolded her in his arms, and she felt her own smallness, her own vulnerability, but despite his own enormity, she felt his, too. He held her tightly, not just to keep her from falling apart, but because she was his anchor.

She wound her arms around him and held on, too.

"Let me be there for you," he murmured. "Not because I was 'ordered' to be, but because I want to be."

"I want to be there for you, too," she told him, clutching his t-shirt, knowing he needed her, too.

Behind him, through her thick blinds, Madge could see golden light filtering through. Dawn.

This moment, in his arms, in the first real form of human contact she's had since her parents died, reminds her of a song that she would play on the piano. It was an aubade, a morning love song.

"We can face our demons together," he said, his voice low and strained with emotion. "Pay for our crimes."

She reached up on her tip-toes and buried her nose in his neck and breathed him in. He smelt like home.

"No," she murmured, smiling against his skin, "we can redeem ourselves together."

She pulled away, smiling up at him, and it was like watching dawn break out across his face, his face lighting up, his answering smile as soft as the sun's rays.

Madge took Gale's hand and led him to the window, where he put his arms around her and they watched the sun rise together.


End file.
